


Breathing

by Wordsy



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Blood, Coma, Discussed character death, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical, RvB Angst War, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Tuckington - Freeform, Ventilator, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsy/pseuds/Wordsy
Summary: It’s hardly the first time Tucker’s had to consider the possibility that Wash might die. Having fought beside the man for years, Tucker’s grown used to the thought,God fucking dammit, Wash is going to get himself killedand others like it.It’s what comes after that Tucker has trouble with.Or, Tucker is forced to consider a world without Wash. After all, just because Wash woke up at the end of season 15, doesn’t mean everything’s going to be okay.





	Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RvB Angst War 2018. I'd just like to thank the lovely [narumiya-gei](http://narumiya-gei.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for the prompt:  
>  _For the RvB angst contest, can I suggest Tucker dealing with the idea that Wash might die, after Wash gets shot in the throat? Thank you!_

“You said he’d be fine.”

“Captain Tucker–”

“You said he’d be okay. After Temple–they told us he even woke up.”

“And that is true, but unfortunately since then his condition–”

The resounding BANG as Tucker punches the desk echoes throughout the entire office. Even the hall beyond it goes dead quiet.

There’s a long moment of perfect silence before Tucker pulls his fist back from the now dented metal. He’s still in power armor, it’s a surprise he didn’t snap the whole desk in half.

Tucker looks up, expecting anger, expecting ‘pull yourself together, Captain.’ He’s prepared to be thrown from the room–hell maybe even the hospital.

Instead, he finds Grey sat at her desk, unmoved by his outburst. Kimball stands beside her chair, hand raised to her security detail, signally them to stand down. There’s no trace of the clinical doctor persona or the hardened leader. Just two friends, the misery on their faces a direct reflection of the cold tendrils wrapped around Tucker’s heart.

He blows out a long breath that does little to calm him.

“I don’t  _get it,”_  Tucker pleads. “We’re living in the fucking future. With time travel and AI.

“How does someone just stop breathing?”

* * *

There wasn’t time to think about it. Not while Temple’s machine was still out there threatening millions of lives. Not while there was a fight to fight and swords to swish-swish-stab and tanks to punch.

At least that’s what Tucker told himself.  _There’s no time to stop and worry about Wash._

Because worrying meant thinking. And thinking made that bullet tearing through Wash’s neck real.

So obviously the only thing to do was not think. But that was a hell of a lot easier said than done. Abject terror burrowed itself into Tucker’s brain like a parasite and touched every little decision, movement, and thought.

* * *

At the Blues and Reds old bases, Tucker grits his teeth and gives the most kickass pep talk of all time, thank you very much. It’s awesome and motivational and amazing, but

What would Wash say in his place?

Afterward, Tucker gets the video file of his speech from Jax so he can show Wash when they see him again. Because they will see Wash again.

Tucker ends up deleting it. It’s nowhere near as good as whatever the Freelancer would have thought up on the spot. He’s not going to make Wash sit through his shitty speech. Anyway, the man probably won’t want to see it. Wash has got more important things to deal with after all. Like staying alive with two bloody holes in his throat.

It doesn’t stop there. The nagging questions follow Tucker into battle.

He takes down those flag obsessed morons with ease, using every badass Freelancer move Wash ever taught him.

Tucker goes in for another attack, breathing hard. But wait– _is Wash still breathing?_

Did he just take his last breath? Did it hurt? Was he awake? Was he scared? Was anyone with him? Did someone hold his hand? Did he wonder where his team was?

And they keep coming.

Tucker looms over Temple, energy sword crackling in his hand. The glow reflects off his own blue armor and Temple’s blue armor, his blue visor. Blue. Blue. Blue.

_Will I know Wash is gone?_

Will Tucker feel something the moment it happens? Will he be able to recognize a post-Washington world? Tucker’s a soldier at war–he’s had people die on him before, even friends. There hadn’t been any magical moment of knowing. But Wash is… different.

Wash can’t die. Wash  _doesn’t_  die. He comes crawling back like the ornery little cockroach he is. You can shoot him, blow him up, toss him off cliffs, and drop a fucking spaceship on him. But Wash is always going to be there with the smirks he tries to hide when Tucker makes a joke (“Your head’s big enough as it is. You don’t need any more encouragement”). He’s always going to be there at three a.m. to sit on the floor and color with Caboose when the blue soldier has a nightmare or is just missing Church. Every morning he’ll be there hovering over the coffee pot when Tucker finally rolls out of bed, ready to offer a cup while he downs his third (“Leave me alone, it’s not even that strong”). He’ll be there with his high-pitched angry voice and dumb martyr complex. And his annoying stickler-for-the-rules attitude. And his smug teasing (“Sounds like you  _really fucked up”)._

Then Loco’s shitty machine works because  _of course_  it does. This is just what Tucker’s life is now. And Church is there. Not Epsilon.  _Church_  Church. Tucker’s best friend from his days in Blood Gulch stands there alive and grouchy as ever. And then he’s gone. Again.

That’s a hell of a lot to process and Tucker feels a little like his mind is breaking, but those fucking thoughts are still coming through loud and clear.

_Will I get to tell Wash about this?_

Will the Freelancer laugh and shake his head when Tucker inevitably embellishes bits? Will his eyes soften with sympathy when Tucker acts like he doesn’t care they had to face saying goodbye to their dead friend yet again? Probably for real this time. Probably.

They save the whole goddamn world. An entire planet–billions of lives.

_Will he be proud of me?_

* * *

At first, there’s no time to worry and then there’s no need. The lieutenants arrive on the beach and tell them so.

And apparently, after the Freelancer’s third rendition of the Ducktales theme song, he’d had a few moments of clarity during which he asked about the Reds and Blues.

Where are they? Did they win? Is everyone alright? Is Caboose okay? Is Tucker here?

_Is Tucker here?_

At the time the teal soldier brushes it off with a smirk and a joke. “Jeez, dude, way to sound desperate.”

The others give him strange, sad looks but say nothing. Not that they need too. Tucker feels like an ass the second it comes out of his mouth.

The truth is that one secretly kills Tucker because that’s Wash-speak for  _‘I want to see Tucker–Can I see Tucker? I need Tucker to tell me everyone made it out and Temple is gone.’_  Because Wash not only sucks at asking for things, he’s got deep-rooted trust issues with medical personnel. Meaning, he won’t believe anyone when they assure him everyone’s fine–not until the Reds and Blues confirm it themselves.

* * *

“Is he going to be okay?”

They got back to Chorus to find out that within a span of twenty-four hours, everything’s gone to shit. It might have been an infection. Tucker didn’t hear anything else Grey said after the part where Wash stopped breathing.

“Is he going to be okay?” Tucker asks again when he’s answered with silence.

The doctor leans back in her chair, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“We have Agent Washington on a ventilator,” Grey explains, voice unnaturally level. “Meaning the machine is essentially breathing for him.”

 _“And?”_  Tucker presses. The slow pace of the conversation is starting to make him see red.

“He just experienced a severe trauma…” Grey lifts her glasses to wipe the sleep from one eye. “His body’s struggling to keep up.”

Tucker swallows down the thick anger bubbling up his throat and focuses on not punching the desk again.

“But is he going to be  _okay?”_  He asks yet again, forcing his voice steady.

Grey meets his gaze with tired eyes.

“It is too soon to tell.”

* * *

It’s hardly the first time Tucker’s had to consider the possibility that Wash might die. Having fought beside the man for years, Tucker’s grown used to the thought,  _God fucking dammit, Wash is going to get himself killed_  and others like it.

It’s what comes after that Tucker has trouble with.

Imagining Wash die has always felt like a game over, so to speak. Sad 8-bit music plays followed by a black screen. You Lose. Game Over. Return to Main Menu? Yes or No?

The months Tucker spent with the New Republic were a harsh dose of reality. That’s when it hit him that life moves on without Wash and Tucker kind of hates it.

That’s the final truth of the matter. When–if Wash dies, the teal soldier’s going to continue having dumbass adventures with his dumbass friends, one dumbass short.

Blue team will be without a leader. Again. Everyone will expect Tucker to step up because he’s the logical choice. Of course, he doesn’t want that but who’s going to listen when the only other option is Caboose? Tucker barely trusts his ability to keep  _himself_  alive some days. How’s he supposed to lead others?

With Wash gone he’s only got one teammate left. Sure, there’s the Reds and the whole conflict between the teams was fake from the start. But the teams are very real, and the bonds those teams created. What happens when Tucker has to look after Caboose by himself? Sure, Tucker raised Junior, but that was back in Blood Gulch surrounded by a bunch of fuckers who couldn’t shoot their own foot if they tried. Out here there’s a real war going on. What if Tucker makes a bad call during battle? What if he gets Caboose killed?

Just like he got Wash killed.

Then he’ll be alone.

* * *

 Over the years, this is what Tucker’s grown used to: a hard-plastic chair beside a hospital bed. White walls and too bright lights reflecting off metal equipment. Goosebumps and chilly rooms without even windows to help warm them. Pregnant silence punctuated by the digital chirp of machines.

Why do the two of them always end up here?

This time around there is one thing different.

Tucker will never admit this to anyone on the pain of death but sometimes after Wash falls asleep in the infirmary, the teal soldier stays in his chair beside the bed for another hour. Tucker watches how the Freelancer’s expression softens in his sleep, how his eyelids stir while he dreams. Then Tucker closes his eyes so the only thing he’s aware of is the even whisper of Wash breathing in and out. And he pretends they’re somewhere else–anywhere besides a hospital room on a war-torn planet. He pretends Wash is okay and is sleeping naturally without the help of a boatload of painkillers. Caboose is in the other room and the Reds are outside doing their thing. And everything’s  _good._

Tucker can’t do that here.

The ventilator keeping Wash alive sucks in loud, hollow gasps one after another in a constant beat. Air rushes through tubes snaking from the machine, past the man’s lips, and down into his lungs. Wash’s chest rises and falls with wheezes that sound distinctly lifeless. They’re more like death rattles than breathing.

So instead, Tucker sits by the edge of the bed, eyes locked on Wash’s limp hand as the sim trooper grips it tight with both of his own.

Tucker lets loose a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping.

“Hey, dude–” He starts but chokes. The words can’t quite make it out around the lump in his throat.

Tucker coughs and tries again. “Hey, so… it’s me. I don’t actually know if you can hear me or not since you’re in a teensy bit of a coma. I asked Grey but she started speaking, like,  _science_  at me and sent me thirteen separate medical studies on the awareness of coma patients.”

Tucker runs a hand through his hair and scratches the back of his neck.

“I think, like, half are convinced you can hear me right now, and the other half are convinced you’re dead to the world. So, there’s a fifty percent chance you’ll hear this and that’s better than nothing, I guess.”

Tucker snorts to himself. “Yeah, I know thirteen doesn’t really work out to fifty-fifty. I knew you’d have a problem with my math, but… hey…” His eyes sting.

“Why don’t you  _wake up_  and  _do something about it?”_

And just like that Tucker is crying. Full on crying with tears rolling down his face and breath hitching in his throat as he tries to speak around the sobs.

“Fuck you, dude. God, just…  _Fuck you.”_

Tucker’s leaning over the edge of the bed, hands wrapped around Wash’s like the sim trooper’s scared it will slip away. His grip is slick with tears as he presses their joined hands to his forehead.

“T-they told me you kept asking if everyone was okay.” Tucker gulped. “Which is bull-fucking-shit because– _yes._  Everyone’s fine, but that's–that’s not right.”

Tucker sucks in breath after breath. He’s a mess. He can’t stop the tears flowing, and his nose is stuffed up, and his voice is strangled.

“Because you  _aren’t_  okay,” Tucker croaks, eyes scrunched shut as he presses his cheek to the back of the Freelancer’s hand. “And–and if you’re not okay, everyone is not okay. You hear me, you fucking idiot? Don’t ask if everyone’s alright because you’re part of everyone…”

_Don’t ask if everything’s okay because you’re everything._

Tucker never gets that last part out. He’s too distracted because at that moment he squeezes Wash’s hand.

And Wash squeezes back.

**Author's Note:**

> I missed a burlesque show to stay home and finish this fic, so I hope you're happy
> 
> Comments and critiques welcome!
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr at [wordsysayswords](http://wordsysayswords.tumblr.com/)


End file.
